


Pitt River Museum "Heist"

by Hellfire98



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Dissociation, I listened to that on repeat until my brain was numb, Love Language: Words of Affirmation, Other, Pitt River's Museum Tour, Rated Teen for Canon-Typical Murder, and it's mostly spite, because I have a reason for this, if you don't want to read the fic but do want to know why I wrote it please read the start note, love language: gift giving, that's how I'm tagging that toy soldier's insistence that it isn't real, uhhh kinda sort, yes this a controversial thing to do! I don't care!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24919237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellfire98/pseuds/Hellfire98
Summary: The Toy Soldier has been a tour guide before and it thinks the whole ordeal is rather boring and lonely. Being forced at gunpoint to give museum tours really isn't much better. At least someone wants to talk to it this time.
Relationships: The Toy Soldier/Gunpowder Tim
Comments: 55
Kudos: 130





	Pitt River Museum "Heist"

**Author's Note:**

> So I feel like I’m swinging at a hornet’s nest for posting this or even treading on this ground but there’s a lot I want to get off my chest by writing this. This has been bouncing around my head interlocked in thread with spite and baggage for a good week now ever since writing Voice of an Angel and even before that.
> 
> The Toy Soldier is one of only two Mechanisms who has canonically and without debate been in love with someone. I find it very important that in its backstory it finds great importance in being loved and being seen as real. The Toy Soldier has been in love and the fact that it thought no one could ever truly love it because it’s “not real” hurts it greatly.
> 
> The fact that I project heavily through the Toy Soldier is no secret. It’s very clear in the way I write it with such passion that this character is important to me in many ways. So seeing how a lot of people in the fandom write it equally hurts. It’s seen as creepy and weird and without emotion. A lot of that hits home for me and is why I started projecting through the Toy Soldier in the first place. I’ve made a great effort writing about the Toy Soldier and going directly against a lot of these ideals when doing so, even directly addressing some like the teeth thing and the food problem. A lot of those problems don’t make sense to me at all! Within canon the Toy Soldier knows what god damn food is and what tastes good to certain people. It has autonomy, despite the ethical can of worms that is the command function.
> 
> So, yes, I’m writing a ship fic with the Toy Soldier because I feel like it’s important to do so at some point. I feel like it’s important to recognize that some of the ways the Toy Soldier is presented by the fandom can be borderline infantilizing. Yes, I know that’s a strong word and I may be using it slightly wrong but the way we tip-toe around the issues and treat it as naive and without autonomy or understanding of people certainly feels like it to me when a lot of the reasons people characterize it this way are the same reasons I relate to it. God, the Toy Soldier probably knows how people work better than Nastya does! 
> 
> Of course, I’m also worried about how people will portray the Toy Soldier going forward. I’m wary of where this train of thought can lead and I can easily see this ethical can of worms exploding in someone’s face. Do realize, though, that this comes from a place of love and understanding. This comes from a place that deeply relates to the Toy Soldier and a lot of the issues presented in its canon. This comes from a place of importance and baggage and spite, but also one of determination to change what’s been presented to it.

Out of everyone on the Aurora, Tim has known Jonny and the Toy Soldier the longest. He went to war with the idiots and, personally, he’s seen a lot of sides to the two. He’s seen Jonny laugh in the face of death and tragedy not only because he can’t die but because the amount of energy that sort of thing gives him is overwhelming. He’s seen the Toy Soldier wander off from the battleground not only because of its lack of loyalties but because staying one place for too long makes it anxious and it starts to twitch and tap and catalog a way out. So that’s why, when he’s watching Brian, Raphaella, and the Toy Soldier talk from his vantage point at the top of the stairs, he realizes how incredibly tense and twitchy the Toy Soldier is getting the longer they stay in this museum.

“So, the Toy Soldier should do our introduction,” Raph says in a chipper voice, rocking back and forth from heel to toe with excitement.

“Why?” it asks, its shoulders hiking up slightly. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it. I never do the introductions.”

“You’re practically the second frontman,” she explains, flipping her hands about.

“I thought that was Tim,” it says, glancing at the gunner who is cleaning his favorite flintlock with a disgruntled expression, occasionally glaring at the three of them. “He was the one to run Gender Rebels.”

“He’s going to end up shooting one of us if he has to do the introduction,” Brian says, fixing his clothes from nervous habit, pulling and tugging at his shirt and waistcoat. “You like history, don’t you? Especially military history? I would think you’d love to do something like this.”

“I do like those things,” it says, putting its weight on one side to roll its ankle. “I just don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

Well, Tim knows that’s a lie. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard it talk about history, or at least history it hasn’t experienced itself. Sure, it talks an awful lot about uniforms, but those are usually in the terms of fashion or where it got a specific jacket or patch. The most he’s heard it talk about history is the long-winded history of a mandolin it wouldn’t shut up about when Tim and it were hunched over a lead blanket and Jonny and Bertie looked on, Jonny with a look of annoyance and Bertie thankful for the distraction.

“Just give it a try for us?” Raph asks, steadying her rocking to give it a pleading look. “If it doesn’t go well someone else can give it a try.”

It takes a fake deep breath as it looks at the others. Tim definitely isn’t going to do it. He hates this task as much as it does. But unlike Tim, the Toy Soldier agreed to this bet and should be able to face the consequences of losing. 

It shifts around a bit more, moving its weight from foot to foot and tapping his fingers against its leg. “I can try my best,” it says, voice halting.

“Jolly good,” Brian says with a smile as he claps a hand on the Toy Soldier’s shoulder. It doesn’t flinch, it doesn’t. Nevermind that Tim can definitely see its arm tense. That’s not a flinch.

“Jolly good,” it repeats, nodding. It forces a smile onto its face, rolling the tension out of its shoulders.

Tim grunts as he stands from the stairs, catching everyone’s attention. He looks away, not liking the looks they’re giving him as he shoves the flintlock into his pocket.

“You’re way too tense to do any sort of introduction,” he grumbles, crossing his arms loosely.

“Well, do you want to do it then?” Brian asks, the edge of a glare in his gaze.

Tim’s nose scrunches up in disgust and he tightens his arms for a brief second. “God, no,” he whines. “I was just suggesting we do something to loosen up. Everyone here is too much on edge.” He starts making his way down the stairs to meet the others. “I know what always helps boost my spirits when I’m nervous.”

“You can’t be serious,” Brian says in a deadpan with an expression to match.

“Music?” the Toy Soldier asks, perking up.

Tim can’t help but smile as he watches some tenseness start to leave it. “Right-o, Soldier,” he says, grinning viciously. He steps over and knocks Brian’s hand away to sling an arm over its shoulder and pull it close. It doesn’t flinch or tense as he goes on. “Just like in the Moon War, right? A good song to boost morale!”

“I think that’s a spiffing idea, Tim!” it agrees, leaning into him slightly.

  
“And what song do you think would do best?” he asks, exaggerating his curiosity.

“Riddle of the Sphinx is always a jolly good song to play,” it says immediately, looking over to the instrument cases that lean against the wall at the top of the stairs. “We don’t have your fiddle, but that’s fine because you’d need to sing anyway.”

Tim huffs a quick laugh and slides his arm off of the Toy Soldier to start making his way back up the stairs. “I thought you would go for something you sing in,” he says, “like Cinder’s Song or Pump Shanty.”

“Cinder’s Song doesn’t really boost morale,” it says in a joking tone as it meets Tim at the top of the stairs.

“Sphinx it is, then,” he says, slinging the strap of his guitar into place.

“Do we not get a choice in this?” Brian asks, crossing his arms as he looks up from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says, fixing him with a fresh glare, “do _you_ want to do the introduction piece?”

“Well, I, no–”

“Then you don’t get to choose the song.”

* * *

“–we’re going to be taking you on a tour of our favorite objects in this simply spiffing museum–”

Tim glances down at the Toy Soldier and thinks that his efforts to boost morale were in vain. He didn’t think wood could get stiffer but there it was, moving with jittery arm waves and almost rocking on its feet while its back is perfectly straight and stiff. If it could get knots he could probably see them through its jacket.

“What is it even made of?” he hears Raph whisper.

“Please don’t pull at my hair,” Brian says in a withering tone, just as quiet.

“Why do you always cover your hands? The intricacies of your machinery are quite nice. I don’t see the need to hide it.”

“My hands get cold.”

“You can feel temperature?”

“Unfortunately.”

Tim turns his head and sends a sharp glare at the two of them, one that only Brian sees as Raph is now poking at Brian’s coat. Brian gives a short, stiff wave and a quick smile that might be trying to be apologetic. Tim only glares harder.

“If you make it do this introduction again I will shoot the cameraman,” he says in a sharp whisper.

Raph turns to look at him with a tilt of her head. “I thought you would like this museum,” she says. “All about guns and such. Thought it would be your kind of thing!”

“For one, you need to stop assuming any of us military folk like history so much,” he huffs. “Two, I don’t like being forced to explain primitive weaponry to a godforsaken camera. Three, that’s not even what this is about. If it has to do this damned introduction again I will very quickly murder you. Unlike you two, we don’t want to be here.”

“How do you figure?” Brian asks.

“It’s as stiff as a board.”

“It’s made of wood.”

Tim huffs and scrunches up his nose. “I don’t see why you can’t see it’s uncomfortable,” he spits.

“What are you three over here whispering about?” the Toy Soldier asks, turning around and walking up the stairs to meet them.

“Nothing–” Brian starts.

“About how these two wouldn’t stop chattering and how this entire thing sucks,” Tim interrupts yet again. “Well, I was saying how much this sucks. These two were talking about stupid things.”

“Brian isn’t stupid,” Raphaella jokes as she pokes at his coat again. Brian swats her hands away.

The Toy Soldier huffs a short laugh, a small, genuine smile on its face as it reaches the group. Tim moves closer to it, bumping his shoulder against it slightly. It bumps him back.

“Alright, so,” the cameraman says, catching everyone’s attention as he glances at his phone, “can I have Miss la Cognizi and Mister… uh…” he frowns and furrows his brow then looks up at Brian.

“Brian is fine,” he shrugs.

“Right,” the cameraman nods. “Can you two come with me? We’ll do your sections first.” He looks back to Tim and the Toy Soldier. “You two can either wait here or come with, but it might take a while.”

“Screw that,” Tim says, jumping down a few steps only to throw himself down to sit, slinging his arms over the stairs above him to lounge backward. “I hate this with a burning passion and I’m not going to follow you two while you talk about… armor and… _magnets.”_

“Suit yourself,” Brian says with a chuckle as he walks with Raphaella down the stairs.

Tim all but freezes, stopping for a moment before glaring at Brian’s retreating form as the group trails through the exhibit and out of sight. “Was that a goddamn pun?” he asks incredulously. “Drumbot, that better not have been a pun!”

“No yelling in the museum, please,” the Toy Soldier says in a robotic tone.

Tim jumps slightly and looks up at it. It’s standing stock still on the stairs above him and meeting Tim’s eyes with a lot more eye contact than it usually gives anyone if not being told instructions.

“Uh, sorry?” he says hesitantly, not really a question. “I thought you hated it here. Why do you suddenly care about the rules?”

It blinks a few times and then looks around. He watches as its eyes scan the entirety of the museum, shoulders hiked up slightly in a defensive way. Its expression crumples into an exaggerated, almost practiced confusion.

“I don’t,” it says, tone low and quiet. “I… may I sit next to you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He scoots over even though there’s no need. The Toy Soldier steps carefully down the stairs and then sits down next to him. Its hands sit on its knees and its back is perfectly straight and for a moment it’s still. Then it starts rocking slightly, tapping its fingers on its knees. He watches it slightly for a while, concern dripping through his veins. He decides to move closer, scooting back over so his right knee bumps up against its outer thigh, trying to train the concern off of his face. Eventually, it says something.

“Did you know that I used to work in a museum?” it asks rhetorically. Its eyes stay on the museum below. “Actually, I don’t think it was work. They called me a ‘walking exhibit’ and I gave guided tours.”

Tim scrunches up his nose a bit and pushes his knee into it more. He watches its shoulders fall into a more relaxed position, but only slightly.

“When did you do that?” he asks, tilting his head even though it’s not looking at him.

“Oh, a long time ago, old chap,” it says, shrugging slightly. It drops its gaze to the ground in front of the exhibits. “It was when I was a lot…” it trails off for a second. “Lot… lot… lot… lot… lot newer. That’s the word. I was newer. Only a few decades old. Not old. Few decades… existing. Nope, that doesn’t make sense. Old it is.” Tim smiles at this as it starts tapping its heel and more of the tenseness drops. “The widow who I was first with died and the other clockworks and I were donated to the museum.”

“There’s more of you?”

“Oh, no.” It laughs slightly, but there’s an odd edge to it. “Well, maybe. None that I’ve met, though! These other clockworks weren’t the same as me. They didn’t talk or walk or do anything really.”

“So, what, you were some guided tour for a museum?” Tim asks. He looks around slightly at the museum they currently sit in and then back at the Toy Soldier. It nods, shoulders hiking back up. “Oh, this sucks. This actually sucks.”

“That’s certainly a way of putting it, old chap,” it says, nodding, and he thinks it would usually laugh or smile at this point but it distinctively doesn’t. “Museum work was awfully lonely when I was doing it. No one really seemed to want to talk to me.”

“Why not?” he asks. “You’re pretty interesting to listen to. Well, most of the time .”

It looks at him for a second and then looks away again, eyes trained on its hands as it taps on its knees. “The museum was called…” it trails off again, “the Victoria and Albert Museum. That was it. I think that’s what the widow called me, actually.”

“What, Victoria and Albert?”

“No, just Albert.”

“I like the Toy Soldier better. Albert doesn’t suit you. It’s a rather stuffy name if I say so myself.”

He sees it smile just slightly, but its fingers curl in as it continues. “I was very lonely because no one wanted to seem to talk to me. The widow at least talked to me when she was alive. So I just left one day. No one really stopped me. They didn’t seem to care too much.”

There’s a pause where Tim isn’t sure if he’s supposed to be talking or not. He doesn’t, just to be safe. Eventually, he glances back over at it to find it thumbing at the edge of its jacket while still rocking slightly. There’s a tenseness that hangs in the air and he doesn’t think it’s going to continue talking without being prompted. He also doesn’t think it likes the silence all that much, especially after talking about the museum and loneliness.

“Well, then what did you do?” he asks.

“What was that?” it says, finally looking at Tim for more than a passing second.

“What did you do after you left that shitty museum?”

“Oh!” it pauses, nodding as it does until it continues. “I wandered for a while. Nobody wanted to talk to me then either, so it was still rather lonely. And then this recruiting party came. They called themselves an army but we never did much fighting. They taught me to play the drum and we handed out leaflets and talked to other people about some kind of god. I’m not sure which one.”

“Sounds like a scam,” Tim grumbles, thinking of all the possible groups that do something like that across the universe.

“I think that’s what some of the people I tried to hand leaflets to said,” it says. “I didn’t enjoy that army very much. Very boring. But it did lead me to the Angel.”

“You’ve mentioned her before,” he says, shifting to sit up more. “Something about her having a nice voice and being blind?”

The Toy Soldier pauses and looks at Tim. It scans his face in an almost scrutinizing way for a few moments. For some reason, he’s rather comfortable with the silence. He sits up more and presses up against the Toy Soldier, getting rather close. It doesn’t seem to mind. It looks away eventually, though, looking back at the museum.

“I was in love with her,” it says, words heavy and light at the same time, almost as wistful as Orpheus.

Tim almost chokes, jolting enough that he’s sure the Toy Soldier feels it. “What?”

“She was the first one to treat me like I was real,” it explains, shoulders rising as if it’s carrying something heavy. “So I fell in love with her. I called her the Angel because she sang like one and she always seemed happy when I called her that.”

“And then what happened?” he asks in a soft voice, though he’s very invested in the story now. It’s much more interesting than some old objects collecting dust. 

It pauses as if thinking for a moment but Tim sees its shoulders fall and a rare smile pull at its face. “She didn’t love me back, not really,” it says solemnly. “You can’t be in love with something that’s not real.”

A part of Tim rages at that and his arm twitches as his fist clenches. He has to force himself to unclench it and lean heavily into the Toy Soldier. It doesn’t budge as he does.

“There you go with that again,” he says, exaggeratingly scrunching his face to make it clear his discomfort. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re real until you believe me?”

“Whether I’m real or not doesn’t matter,” it says, turning its head to look at Tim despite his closeness making that hard.

“I beg to differ,” he says, clunking his forehead against its.

“Don’t interrupt,” it snaps. It turns its head away again but leans its head into Tim’s. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m real or not because she didn’t love me either way. She fell in love with a real girl with flesh and blood and a very nice smile. And then she forgot about me.”

“I don’t know how anyone can just forget about you,” Tim says impulsively, turning his head away with a huff. “Bloody insistent on being around as you are.”

“Stop interrupting,” it repeats. “So I… well, I killed her.”

“You killed her?” he asks, jolting away slightly.

It immediately tenses so violently he hears it creak. He quickly drapes back over it. It doesn’t stop being tense for a while until the both of them are very quiet and very calm for a good few moments. His arm is slung around its shoulder and it leans into him. Soon, it starts tapping its fingers again.

“I regret it,” it says. “I think I do, at least. Emotions are… very difficult. I don’t like them very much. Emotions are what made me want to kill the Angel. When Marius was looking through our files he said it was jealousy, which sounds about right, but I have never met a jealous person.”

“Wait, there’s a fucking file on this?” Tim asks.

“Ivy asked about it very early on,” it says, nodding. “I didn’t write the file. Neither did Ivy. It’s written by someone named Pierrette. I don’t know who Pierrette is. I did draw the pictures for it, though.”

“What in the hell is up with those files?” he grumbles, pushing more into the Toy Soldier. “How does no one know who wrote them?”

“The compass is just like you!” Raph exclaims as she rounds the corner, practically bouncing.

Tim looks to the Toy Soldier as the two come back. It has a blank expression on his face as he pulls off of it but he can see by the way it tenses, fists curling in its lap, that it’s upset over the interruption and the abrasive exclamations from Raphaella. He bumps his knee against it.

“A gold little fortune teller,” she continues.

“I’m not made of gold,” Brian argues. “I am mostly brass.”

“Yes, but you look gold,” she says, rolling her eyes. She swings around to face the two on the stairs. “The camera guy says for you two to meet him by the mandolin! You know where that is, right?”

“Yes,” the Toy Soldier says. It stands, rocking from heel to toe as it does and dusting itself off. “Tally-ho, Tim!”

“Uh, right,” he says, grabbing onto the railing to pull himself up off the stairs. He quickly catches up with the Toy Soldier and grabs onto its hand as it leads him through the winding exhibit.

* * *

“–Now this object is of particular interest to me because when I’m not being forced at gunpoint to give guided tours, I myself play the mandolin.”

Tim sits on the ground with his back against the glass case holding an array of dusty guns that the Toy Soldier gave the introduction to the museum at not ten minutes ago. They did them in that order for the convenience of not having to grab the Toy Soldier, leave it for a while, and then do the recording again. Plus, he’s sure the cameraman was told that Brian and Raph were the more agreeable out of the two when it came to their attitude about the museum. That or he was told the Toy Soldier could reign Tim in if he decided that this was stupid. 

It continues to go on about this stuffy mandolin in a semi-interested tone you’d hear from your history teacher who isn’t on tenure yet. While the cameraman seems to be interested, Tim very much isn’t. Not because the mandolin isn’t interesting, but because not only has he heard about this mandolin before, he’s heard the Toy Soldier talk about it with five times the enthusiasm it has now.

“–In fact, I raised morale of the, uh, troops during the, uhm, campaign against the Moon Kaiser in uh…”

Somehow it seems more interested in talking about the blasted Moon War than it did talking about the mandolin. That should be a crime. It loves that damned mandolin. He knows it does. But as soon as it goes off script it actually starts being animated and lively. As soon as it doesn’t have to talk about the museum it gets happier and it smiles and moves and expresses more.

Tim seethes. Nobody sees him load a few cartridges of ball plasma into his flintlock.

* * *

“–as well as that it fired traditional projectiles rather than superheated plasma, but to each their own,” Tim goes, on, leaning awkwardly against the glass case. “Now, long story short…”

His eyes drift away from the camera for just a moment. At that moment he sees the Toy Soldier still standing by the mandolin case. It’s staring intently at it, rocking back and forth on its feet and mouthing something. He can’t hear from here if it’s actually saying anything or just going through the motions again.

“Can we stop for a second?” he says to the cameraman, though he’s not really asking nor looking at him.

“Oh, uh, sure,” the cameraman stutters. “Just tell me when you’re ready to go again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim says dismissively before walking off.

The Toy Soldier doesn’t seem to notice him approaching until he’s right up next to it. As soon as it does, though, it jumps slightly, hand going to the pocket with its gun but not sliding in. Its mouth clamps shut in surprise and it turns to him fully and very stiffly.

“Are we done?” it asks in an almost pleading tone.

“Not yet,” he says sympathetically as he shakes his head. “I was just wondering what you were doing.”

“Why would you do that?”

“You’re interesting and I care about what you’re doing?” he raises an eyebrow. “Plus, this is very boring and I hate this place.”

It pauses. It turns back to the mandolin and shifts on its feet again. “I’m just looking at the mandolin again,” it says.

“I know how much you like that mandolin,” he says. “You used to talk about it during the Moon War when we were in the trenches.”

“Oh, well,” it shrugs. “I mostly did that to distract you and Bertie. You both were so stressed, not used to war at all.”

Tim bites his lip. “Would you want the mandolin if you could have it?” he continues.

“No, I don’t think so, old chap,” it says, surprisingly. Tim glances at it in confusion. “I don’t know if I’d be able to take care of it well enough.”

“Well, your own bloody mandolin is centuries old and it works just fine,” he says. “You’re careful with things you care about.”

It huffs a little. “Well, how many century-old, historical guns do you own?” it asks, a mix between genuine curiosity and an edge of sarcasm he hasn’t heard from it before now. 

He laughs. “Plenty. I take care of my weapons just as well as you take care of your mandolin.”

It blinks at him incredulously but quickly goes back to staring at the mandolin. Tim looks back at the instrument briefly before leaning in close to whisper to the Toy Soldier.

“Would you like to have a bit of actual fun before we leave this blasted museum?” he asks.

“What kind of fun, old chap?”

“Violence.”

It perks up immediately and he can barely see the smile on its face from this angle. He mirrors it.

“That sounds like just jolly good fun,” it says in a sure tone.

* * *

“–allowing for new strategies–” the Toy Soldier stiffens on impulse as it sees Tim draw his gun from his pocket. The cameraman immediately jumps back as Tim begins to raise it and the Toy Soldier goes for its own. “–such as snipin’, and firing at will.”

The gun goes off, firing superheated plasma directly into the camera lens. A loud cracking sound resonates as the glass shatters. The sound is very quickly followed by the sound of the Toy Soldier’s own gun going off, a second chunk of ball plasma hitting the cameraman in the back of the head as he starts to run. He slumps forward, crumpling into a pile on the ground.

“Museum heist!” Tim yells at the top of his lungs, raising the gun to fire off two more shots at the ceiling.

“Museum heist!” the Toy Soldier repeats in an excited voice, a wide grin cracking its face.

It runs off in a different direction, away from the mandolin, as Tim hears footsteps approach. He raises his gun, ready to fire, only to lower it when Brian rounds the corner.

“Wait, we can’t just steal things,” Brian says as Tim turns toward the gun case.

“Oh, I know you aren’t on boring mode right now, you dick,” Tim snaps. Brian flinches as he drives an elbow into the case and shatters it, sparkling glass coating the guns.

“Give me a greater good then,” Brian says, crossing his arms.

“The greater good is that I won’t shoot anyone else if you play along,” Tim says.

“That’s a lie, try again.”

“The greater good is that you can take the stupid samurai armor and put it to good use. And we can take these little pieces of history on an adventure instead of rotting in some museum. Nothing deserves to be locked in some bloody museum all day, never to see the world.”

“That is weirdly specific but, yeah, sure.”

Raphaella runs over to meet the two, cradling the fragile compass in both of her hands. She has a wild smile on her face and she is practically buzzing with energy.

“Last one to the hauler is a shattered moon!” she exclaims.

She immediately breaks off into a sprint, leaving the three of them behind. “Rude!” Tim yells at her retreating form.

The Toy Soldier is at the other end of the museum and unloads a shot into a glass case, careful to avoid shooting a bullet into one of the artifacts. It only needs one shot to weaken the glass enough so it can drive its elbow in and push away the rest of the glass that blocks it. It quickly snatches up the fragile collection of bobbins, smiling at the satisfying clicks they make against each other until it shoves them all into its pocket. It takes off running again, spritely and smiling as it does quite the opposite of what it used to do in the Victoria and Albert Museum. Rules be damned, this is so much more fun.

It’s all set to meet with the others and leave until it’s sprinting past the armory again. It’s not as interested in guns as it is uniforms but it can admire some of their intricacies. So it pauses and looks at some of the historical plaques next to the guns. It should leave, it doesn’t care much for guns. An idea comes to mind, though and it’s rather silly but Tim does like guns…

It takes its gun and shoots another hole through the glass and reaches through. The first gun it grabs is an interesting little piece, a modge-podge homemade gun that looks like it might have been made to be an attachment to a bladed weapon. The second is another pistol, a double-barreled one with a rope attached to the end. The plaque says something about tiger-hunting and elephants but it can’t seem to care as it shoves both pistols into its pockets and goes off running again, annoying the odd feeling of the heavy guns bouncing off of it. It’s starting to realize why Jonny ties his holster down.

The first one back to the hauler is, unsurprisingly, Raphaella, who Tim finds constructing a case for the compass. He slows down as he enters, breathing heavily as he sets down the two items he grabbed on one of the unused seats of the hauler. Raph smiles at him and then looks behind him, giving a quick wave. He turns to the door to see the Toy Soldier enter, smiling brightly and in a much better mood than it was before.

“How was that for a museum tour?” he asks as Brian enters behind it, setting down the samurai armor in one of the seats.

“Oh that was jolly good fun!” the Toy Soldier says, practically bouncing. “We should do that more often. I hate museums.”

“Hate museums?” Brian asks as he settles into the pilot’s seat.

“They’re boring and lonely and horrid,” it explains as it walks further in, letting the hauler doors close behind it. “What did everyone get?”

“I got that compass I was talking about!” Raphaella says, showing the Toy Soldier the handcrafted case. “I don’t know if I have any use for it, but it looks gorgeous, doesn’t it?”

“That looks simply splendid, la Cognizi,” it agrees.

“What did you get then?” she asks, striding over with a skip in her step.

It first pulls out the lace-making bobbins, letting them slide around and click against each other in its hands. Raph looks at them reverently, smiling as the Toy Soldier excitedly talks about them with so much more enthusiasm than it would if it were in the museum. 

“I also got something for you, Tim,” it says.

Tim looks up from where he was checking up on the condition of the air revolver he had snatched up and loading the provided bullets into the cylinder. The Toy Soldier walks over with a bright smile as he straightens up to meet it. He blinks in surprise as it pulls out two pistols, the skeleton pistol and the stopping pistol, the rope of the stopping pistol falling in a flourish as it does so. He takes them carefully, mouth agape.

“Do you like them?” it asks, seeming hesitant.

“Oh, these are a beauty,” he says quickly, setting the stopping pistol to look over the other, rolling it in his hands carefully. “I wouldn’t have even thought to grab them.” He continues analyzing it for a few moments before he remembers something, jolting in the surprise. The Toy Soldier is watching with a careful look and Raphaella has gone over to bother Brian as he readies for taking off. “I got something for you as well.”

The Toy Soldier looks at him with a blank expression, blinking a couple of times. He turns around with a flourish, letting his coat swing behind him in a way that causes the Toy Soldier to step back slightly to avoid being hit by the hem. He swings around more carefully, but just as dramatically, holding an instrument in both hands. It has a fading finish of pale brown and dark oak with fancy gold paint down the side. The strings are incredibly fragile as they are old and worn. The Toy Soldier perks up, eyes widening, and jaw dropping open slightly at the sight of the mandolin.

“You take good care of the things you care about,” Tim says as he hands it over. “I’m sure you’ll take good care of this.” He smiles as it takes it, surprise clear on its face. “And for the record–” it looks up at him in confusion. He quickly bends down slightly and plants a kiss on its forehead. Its eyes open more but it doesn’t say anything. “–I do enjoy talking with you when you aren’t being forced at gunpoint to give museum tours.”

It’s still frozen for a few seconds and Tim thinks maybe he crossed some sort of line. It sets the mandolin down, though, careful to make sure it’s secure where it sits and won’t fall when they take off. Its movements are so slow that he’s very surprised when it jolts forward to wrap him in a tight hug, burying its head in his chest.

“You remind me of her,” it says, voice muffled. “Of the Angel, I mean. You’re very nice and your voice is very pretty. And your laugh is very nice. And I really like it when you’re happy.”

“Well I know a key difference between me and that stupid Angel of yours,” he says, fixing it upright so, while it’s still hugging him, its head is no longer buried in his chest and he can meet its eyes.

“You’re not blind anymore?” it suggests, tilting its head slightly.

Tim laughs and starts to return the hug. “No,” he says, still chuckling. “It’s that I have the bloody sense to actually love you.”

It hugs him tighter, on the edge of probably too tight. He doesn’t complain though as it buries its head into his shoulder this time.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I posted this on my side account because I don't want backlash from people who wouldn't read my... borderline dissertation on the Toy Soldier. I mean I sat in a voice chat while people said stuff like "the Toy Soldier doesn't have object permanence" while writing these tags and I'm just... so tired of the depictions given of the Toy Soldier.
> 
> You can find me @fracnkie for my main and, idk, harrass me @fracnkis or @byron-von-raum on Tumblr if you disagree. I'm actually willing to have a conversation on this probably not all the time but sometimes. I am very tired. 
> 
> Once again betaed by KersPastei who I think offered to get snipper with people for me so... yeah whatever I'm tired thanks.


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